


In the Silence Afterward

by bulletproofteacup



Series: This Terrible Love [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergent, F/M, Political Alliances, Political Betrayal, Political White Lotus, Pregnancy, Refugee!Zuko, Spy!Katara, WhiteLotus!Katara, WhiteLotus!Sokka, Zuko wants to live his life but The White Lotus is Not Cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletproofteacup/pseuds/bulletproofteacup
Summary: Katara’s entire world is split solidly into two halves; before the boy Avatar dies in her arms and the time afterward.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: This Terrible Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779841
Comments: 14
Kudos: 136





	In the Silence Afterward

**Author's Note:**

> Author Warnings: There will be some graphic violence in this chapter. You've been warned!

* * *

_AFTER_

* * *

She stumbles along the passageway, dizzy with exhaustion, half crazy with grief.

Her hands are bound behind her back, but the stone manacles are too tight and her fingers throb with painful urgency. The Dai Lee agent, a nondescript man in his forties, guides her along with one hand tight at the nape of her neck. Every time she stumbles, he sets her straight, his grip on her hair tightening until tears burn in her eyes.

This is how she is dragged into the throne room.

Princess Azula perches on the Earth King’s throne, dressed in smart black and gold armor—the gold headpiece in her hair glitters in the torchlight. Zuko stands beside her, impassive. She almost doesn’t recognize him in Fire Nation armor. She’s never seen his hair in a topknot, she’s never seen him look at her with such blank _nothingness_.

Zuko looks at her as if she is a stranger, as if she is _less_ than a stranger. As if she is a bug to crush beneath his boot.

It doesn’t matter that Katara knew this moment would come, it doesn’t matter that she’s prepared herself for this for _so long_ that she’s not even surprised it has occurred. It still hurts. Her heart is broken and still breaking and the pain is _so_ sharp that for a long moment all Katara can do is struggle to breath.

This is why she’s not prepared when the Dai Lee agent relinquishes his grip on her hair and throws her down. She falls hard on her knees and face; Katara sees stars and tastes blood in her mouth, coppery and as sharp as her grief. “As requested, Princess Azula,” the Dai Lee agent says from very far away, “The whore.”

Katara struggles in a sitting position. She glares at the Dai Lee agent and spits at him with the uncanny aim only a master waterbender could have. Blood and saliva hit his cheek and the man’s face goes slack with disbelief. “Traitor.” she hisses.

The man does not hesitate to backhand her. Her vision goes black and when it clears a moment later, she’s laying on her side. Zuko, standing at the edge of the dais, is shouting something that she can barely make out. The cords in his neck stand out, fire licking the edges of his arm bracers. Azula looks very amused.

Very slowly, Katara rolls back on her knees. A wave of nausea hits her and she vomits. There isn’t much in her stomach, but she still chokes on her tears and spit for a very long time. One of her eyes begins to throb, already swelling from the blow. “Cheng,” Azula says, leisurely examining her nails, “Do be more gentle with Zuzu’s concubine. We don’t want to break her before the brat comes.”

“Yes, Princess.” The man replies, turning and reaching for Katara.

“Don’t touch her.” Zuko snaps.

He hurries down the steps and Cheng backs away quickly.

“My apologies, your highness.” He says.

Then Zuko is there, pulling her up with gentle hands. There is a sort of tight concern in his eyes, a subtle thinning of his lips. She knows him well enough to see the mask and if her head didn’t hurt so much, Katara would understand why he was trying to hide his emotions. But she can barely stand of her feet, let alone lean heavily on him. His arm comes around her waist, propping her up. His armor is uncomfortable, the sharp edges digging into her side. Somehow, he still smells the same. Beneath the new smells—the faint lacquer smell from his armor and the thick, Smokey incense on his silk tunic—there is still something that is uniquely Zuko.

Voice tight, he says to his sister, “You promised you’d take care of her—it’s a miracle she hasn’t lost the baby.”

Azula sighs. “No, dear brother, I’ve kept my promise,” she says, holding up a finger, “You told me to, and I quote, ‘ _throw her in the deepest hole you can find until I decide what to do with her._ ”

Katara flinches and Azula’s smile widens. “She’s alive,” the princess says with smug satisfaction, “I’ve done my part.”

Zuko says something, bickering with his sister as if Katara is nothing more than a broken toy, as if she is a mistreated poodle-cat. Not a person, not someone that he had loved once upon a time. In that moment, Katara can’t help hating him. Even his armor is cleaner that she is, she realizes. She’s spent two weeks rotting in a hole in the ground because of him and he’s complaining like a spoiled child. She’s still wearing the Avatar’s blood, along with grime and dirt and vomit and _grief_. She has grieved over the loss of his love and punished herself for pushing him to this. But he’s still a man and this has all been _his_ choice.

She has made some bad choices, but as always, Zuko has outdone her. Katara knows that she betrayed him, but he still chose to put her and their unborn child in a hole to rot. He still chose to side with his sister and watch as she shot _the child Avatar out of the sky_. Katara gets very angry and does something very stupid.

With a twitch of her fingers, she pulls water from the air. It’s tricky—she’s exhausted and hurt and this bending is half mental. Even the most powerful masters can barely lift more than a drop of water without relying upon gesture and strength. But she is desperate. Katara imagines water soaking into the stone cuffs around her wrist, imagines the gestures she’d use to make it happen, imagines her throbbing fingers pulling water into the rock. Then she freezes it, expanding the stone and giving her just enough wiggle room to pull her arms apart. The gesture shreds her wrists, but this pain is dull in comparison to everything else she feels. She is burning with anger—for the child who died in her arms and the child in her belly—and elation—she’s never done more than frozen a cup of tea without a fully articulated bending movement and here she is, _pulling water out of the air with her mind_ — Katara throws her arms in a wide arc, pulling the moisture out of the air. There isn’t nearly as much as she needs, but it takes only a moment to throw everything she has at the Dai Lee agent. It sends him sprawling, but it’s more than enough time for Azula to deal a death strike.

Zuko is the only reason she lives; he steps in front of her and disperses the sharp blast of flame that would have killed both her and the child. Before she can react to such a close brush with death, the father of her child clamps down on her wrists. “Stop this, Katara!” he demands, “You’re going to get yourself—

She spits in his face. They stare at each other, bloody saliva dripping down his cheek. Then he slaps her.

She’s not sure what hurts more—her cheek or her heart. Before she can react, before she can claw Zuko’s eyes out, Azula speaks. “Zuzu,” she says, “Do make sure you can control your concubine. Father won’t care that she’s a princess if she can’t be brought to heel properly.”

Her voice is silky, like a black widow-snake. Zuko stiffens imperceptibly. Katara blinks. Like perfect mah jong tiles, things begin to click into place. The threat is clear.

It takes Zuko a moment to pull himself together. “Thank you for your advice, Azula,” he says in a forced, stony tone, “But I can manage on my own.”

Azula doesn’t seem convinced. She watches them with barely disguised glee—as if they are animals performing a very charming trick. It reignites Katara’s temper. Zuko grabs her arm, pulling her against him. “Thank my sister for caring for you.” He orders sharply, squeezing her arm once.

The message is clear, but Katara is so angry. She wants to wipe the ground with both of them, but the weight of the baby at her waist, the throbbing behind her eyes, the ache of her limbs reminds her that she’s outnumbered and outmaneuvered. But not defeated.

Katara bends wordlessly, head bowed in thanks. Zuko relaxes beside her and something dark twists inside her gut—this idiot can’t even do betrayal correctly. She’ll play the perfect concubine to keep the three of them alive, but when the opportunity comes she’s going to burn down the palace around his ears. He’d abandoned her and the baby, betrayed the Avatar, and hit her, and she was going to cut his head off in thanks.

“Clean her up,” Azula orders, “She’ll need to look like a dancing bear if you expect her to become one.”

Katara bristles, but like a leopard seal—like any predator worth her salt, she settles in for a long hunt.

* * *

_ BEFORE _

* * *

One spring night, just as they’re closing up, a familiar face appears in the doorway of the Jasmine Dragon. It takes everything in Katara to calmly hand the tray, laden with dirty dishes, to Zuko. Then she tears off her apron and throws herself at her brother, shrieking his name. Sokka catches her and spins her in a circle and they’re both laughing and crying.

Katara doesn’t know it yet, but the little boy standing in the doorway behind Sokka will change everything. But she doesn’t care yet; she’s too busy clinging to her brother with all of her strength. She’s too busy trying to figure out how she’ll explain the baby that Zuko doesn’t know about yet. She’s too busy trying to enjoy this little moment of happiness before everything explodes in her face.

“When did you grow a beard?” she asks, when he finally sets her down.

Sokka strokes the healthy brown scruff. “Do you like it?” he says with delight, “It’s manly isn’t it?”

He says this while flexing his muscles and Katara can’t help laughing. It’s only been a year since they’d parted at Full Moon Bay, but so much had changed in the months since. Sokka was taller and bigger and despite the unshakeable good nature glittering in his blue eyes, there were scars. One through his eyebrow, a crooked ridge where his nose had been broken, a ever so slight limp in his step. He’d left Full Moon Bay to join the Water Tribe fleet protecting supply routes to Ba Sing Se and it looked like he’d had a time of it. It looked like they both had stories to tell. She can only imagine what she must look like dressed in fine blue silk, skin and hair glowing with pregnancy. It didn’t look like she’d spent the last year buttering up Prince Zuko or gathering intelligence for the White Lotus. But espionage has left its own invisible scars.

“Did you find Dad?” she asks, “Where is the fleet now? How long are you here for?”

She has a million questions, but before her brother can answer any, Zuko is behind her. His presence is comforting and protective, but his hand on her shoulder is possessive.

“Katara, who is this?” he asks, voice tight.

Sokka bristles, the easy-going charm draining straight out of him. She sighs. “Lee,” she says quickly, before her brother can make a mess of this, “This is my brother, Sokka.” Then, with a meaningful look, she says, “Sokka, this is my friend Lee. His uncle, Mushi, owns the Jasmine Dragon.”

She sees the recognition in her brother’s eyes—the recognition that came with knowing exactly who and what Lee was. Sokka and her were both members of the White Lotus, but there was only one member with a nephew that was also a Fire Nation Prince. She was going to have a hell of a time explaining why Prince Zuko was getting handsy with her, but it was going to have to wait. There was a boy standing behind Sokka, dressed in yellows and oranges. He was a little thing and skinny enough that a breeze could have blown him over. And yet he smiled brightly, holding some sort of cat-monkey in arms. Beside him stands a little girl in greens and beiges, short and stocky and completely filthy.

“Who are your companions?” she asks, glancing at her brother.

Sokka’s good charm comes back with force, even as they both acknowledge that her reckoning will come later. “Katara,” he says, “This is Avatar Aang and his earth bending teacher, Toph Bei Fong.”

She blinks and Zuko’s hand on her shoulder suddenly tightens. She feels light-headed for a moment, elated and nauseous and delighted and horrified all at the once.

The little boy steps forward—he’s barely twelve, his cheeks still round with baby fat. “Hi!” he chirps, “Sokka told me all about you! You’re going to be my waterbending teacher!”

***

There’s no privacy at the Jasmine Dragon, not with the Grandmaster living there. There’s none to be found at her apartment, especially now that Zuko is practically living there. Instead, they leave Aang and Toph with the Grandmaster and take a stroll through the middle ring, getting down to business. Sokka reveals that their father is still leading the fleet, protecting Chameleon Bay against wave after wave of Fire Nation warships. He shows her the beginnings of extensive tattoo that will stretch across his right arm when it is finished and tells her about Suki. She describes infiltrating the upper crust, about working at the Jasmine Dragon as a lady hostess when she is not attending parties in an effort to get closer to Long Feng. “The Dai Lee control Ba Sing Se,” she whispers as they stand on a bridge, overlooking a carefully manicured pond and garden, “I’m trying to find a way to get to the Earth King, but he’s little more than a puppet. I’m not sure how much he can help us.”

“And prince pouty?” Sokka murmurs, “What’s going on with him?”

She changes the subject. “How did you find the Avatar?”

“Katara.” Sokka warns.

All at once it’s both aggravating and comforting—she’s missed having a protective older brother, but at the same time, she’s been on her own for a long time now. It rubs her the wrong way. “I don’t want to talk about it yet.” She says.

He sighs and in a moment of surprising moment of brotherly sensitivity, he changes the subject. Instead, Sokka tells her how he’d found Aang in an iceberg and how they’d set out to find a waterbender to complete his training. “I figured if anybody could teach that kid, it would be you.” Her brother says.

Katara smiles. She watches the koi fish drifting through the water below, lazy and self-assured and completely at peace with what they are. Her hand drifts to the baby, where he or she is growing just a little each and every day. “We don’t have long,” Sokka is saying, “The comet six months away and he’s training with Toph, but he still has a long way to go with his water bending.”

“I’m pregnant,” She blurts, “It’s Lee’s.”

Her brother blinks. “Lee as is in Prince-Zuko-pretending-to-be-Lee?”

Katara waits patiently while her brother sputters and makes death threats. She bends little whirlpools into the pond while he gripes, moaning about their father and gran-gran and the fact that there was a war going on and did his little sister have to shack up with the literal enemy?!

“He’s decided not to join either side,” she says finally, “and he doesn’t know yet.”

She amends. “He can’t know yet.”

Sokka turns to her and hands on her shoulders, shakes her just a little. Enough that the gesture, gentle and familiar and every bit Water Tribe makes her eyes sting with tears. “What were you thinking?” he asked, “Why were you so careless, Katara?”

This is the hard part. She can barely meet her brother’s eyes, but she needs to tell someone about the this awful, life-changing thing she has done. “The White Lotus asked me to do this—I’m doing it for peace.”

He stares at her, mouth half parted in some sentence forgotten in his astonishment. A dozen emotions cross his face, his jaw working. Anger, disappointment, concern, worry—Katara sees judgement in those eyes and it hurts.

“He’s not a bad person,” she finds herself saying, “He’s a good man—he’s just tired of war and—the—the baby will help him choose a side and if he doesn’t then there’s a heir to end the war—

“What were you thinking?!” her brother interrupts, “What happens when the Fire Nation finds out—and they will at some point—do you think they’re going to take this sitting down? What do you think Long Feng will do with a bargaining chip like you or your kid?!”

She bristles. “I knew the risks when I made this choice—I did it because someone needed to end the war.”

“This isn’t going to end anything!” Sokka shouts.

It startles her and she falls silent. The ladies at the other end of the garden titter and stare. “Sokka.” She pleads, quietly.

In that moment, her brother is a stranger—a man who wears her brother’s face but is not her brother. When did that change? When did she stop understanding her brother’s every thought and reaction? Katara feels sick.

“What is he going to do when he finds out?” he asks and then clarifies, “What will Zuko do?”

She hesitates. It’s something she’s been wondering since the moment she realized that Zuko wasn’t an idiot. “I’ve been hoping he’ll finally join the White Lotus.” She whispers.

Sokka makes a strangled noise—a muffled curse. The look in his eyes has shifted from concern to dismay and settled on disgust. Instantly, Katara knows she should not have told him. Instantly, she knows that she has made the biggest mistake of her lifetime. “Do you even understand how utterly fucking stupid that is?” Sokka spits, “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in?!”

It feels like her brother has slapped her.

She stares at him, mouth hanging open. “Sokka—

“No,” he brother snaps, turning away, “I can’t believe you, Katara—I can’t believe you would do something so irresponsible—I can’t believe the _White fucking Lotus_ would ask you to do this!”

Sokka’s anger drains away and it is instantly replaced with a deadly sort of calm that she has never seen on her older brother. It is a promise of death on a warrior’s face. He’s going to kill someone, and she is terrified that it might be Zuko.

“Sokka,” she pleads, “Nobody made me do this—I did it for the good of the world.”

“They’ve turned you into a pawn,” Sokka growls, “They didn’t do this for peace—they did it to control Zuko.”

She sputters. “What do you mean? He refused to join up, Sokka—they can’t force him to do anything! This plan is a contingency—to ensure smooth succession after the rest of the heirs are gone!”

Sokka shakes his head. “You don’t understand, Katara.”

He laughs bitterly, “That’s why they put you two together—you’re just the sort of young idealist that would fall in love with a prince.”

Katara stares at him. Sokka shakes his head, “They threw you at him and knew you’d succeed—they _whored_ you out for that baby. They don’t even need to threaten him now because when Ozai finds out about that baby—and he will—he’ll stop at nothing to remove the threat. Zuko will have to join up just to protect you and the baby—you’re like lambs being led to the slaughter.”

Then she understands.

Then she understands the sheer stupidity of what has happened.

Katara stumbles and her brother, even for all his anger, catches her. He walks her to a bench while her mind races and her stomach roils with nausea.

Katara has been manipulated easily, like the stupid naïve child that she is. Her mission had never been about making the ultimate sacrifice; it had been about dragging Zuko back into the fold by his cock. He’d refused to be a part of the machinery; he’d chosen to be neutral and live life on his terms. Maybe she’d thought him a coward, but now she knew that he was anything but. How could he be a coward when he’d fought Jet to protect the tea shop or dodged the Dai Lee with her to beat the ever-living shit out of the drug running gang that had left Jin fatherless?

Suddenly, a lot of Zuko’s reluctance makes sense.

It is then that Katara bends over and violently empties her stomach.

* * *

AFTER

* * *

Katara jerks awake with a start. She’s lying in a tub of warm water, so blissfully drowsy and comfortable. Then she sees Zuko.

“Before you kill me,” he says dryly, “Remember that you’ll never make it past the ten Dai Lee agents waiting outside.”

She has an ice dagger at his throat before he has finished speaking. “I would rather die than be your whore.” She hisses.

He touches her belly and the baby jumps. He can’t seem to help the smile that touches his lips. Her throat is suddenly clogged with an emotion she cannot understand. Hate? Love? Grief?

Hope?

“If I die,” he says, “You both die.”

“We might still die.” She argues.

Zuko melts the dagger very slowly, then plunges his hand back into her bathwater. It takes a few moments for the water to warm up again. The gesture is too much—it reminds her of the time before. Before the baby, when he’d still loved her.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers, hating the way her voice breaks when the tears slide down her cheeks.

He trails a hand through the water. He won’t even meet her eyes. “Is it so bad,” Zuko asks, “that I want to go home?”

She thinks of the Avatar, lying motionless in her arms. It had taken everything in her to heal him and she didn’t even know if he’d survived the night that Ba Sing Se had fallen. Was he still alive somewhere? Was her brother still alive?

“Will it be worth the price we’ve paid?” she asks, dull with grief, “Will it be worth the Avatar murdered and my brother—

Zuko straightens. “Is he dead?”

Finally, he meets her eyes. It takes a moment for her to find what he is not saying; the guilt and anguish—the fear. He’s afraid and it disgusts her.

“You’re a coward,” she whispers, “I wish you would have let me die.”


End file.
